


Zaiyah

by fuckedupbean



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Angst, Background story, Bittersweet, Future Fic, He Got Better, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, It's really not that bad, Like a lot of OCs - Freeform, M/M, Mentioned Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Mentioned Nile Freeman, Mentioned Quynh | Noriko, My First AO3 Post, POV Outsider, Post-Canon, actually i'd like to explore that world building so, blink and you miss it mention of the others, but it is the end, but seriously if anyone wants to beta me, futuristic earth, im gonna stop procrastinating by writing tags, look basically it's someone else's story and they happen to be in it, mostly OCs, no beta i die with him, so it really is about them, the last time in Malta, well not so immortal anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:06:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29556075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckedupbean/pseuds/fuckedupbean
Summary: Centuries from now, in the Mediterranean archipelago, Zaiyah tells us the story of the men who came to visit her family, telling stories of their adventures as they walked the earth together. How they came into their lives, how they stayed, how they left, and the stone that remains in the dooryard of their family home.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	Zaiyah

**Author's Note:**

> A little world-building to help visualize things :   
> I don't really have a set date for this, but we really are way out in the future. Earth's population kept growing, and climate change massively impacted things, so you can imagine an overpopulated, somewhat poor region, with artificial islands built all over the Mediterranean sea, connecting Malta to Tunisia and Italy through an archipelago of sorts. 
> 
> Joe and Nicky had a very full and happy life, and as heartbreaking as one of them leaving the other behind is, I still feel it would be a good ending for them. Also, I gave Booker therapy.

The earliest memories I have of them are stories my Ba used to tell us. Stories of heroes fighting for the good in this world, the kind of heroes with swords, worker's hands, and kind eyes, who carried refugees for miles at a time and killed bad guys. Obviously, they were popular amongst us, a never-ending growing flock of kids gathering around him or whoever else we could get to indulge us, as we cramped into the small living room on rainy days. We would dress up in capes and wield shafts and scrap swords and scream as we shot bottle caps at neighbors and terrorized pigeons. My older cousin was always Andromache, our gang leader because she had met them. As I grew up, I thought she'd only say this to make us docile and boss us around. They were obviously made up. Never dying people did not exist. She, more than any of us, should know. She had lost three sisters to illnesses.   
But even as she grew older, got married, and had her first son, she would still drop everything whenever Ba would tell the story of how he first met them, all those years ago, during the flood.

The house belonged to them, he kept reminding us. A house almost as old as them, that they had built themselves. But as they traveled the world and the world changed around them, they had to give it away. To my great-great-great-great-great-great grandma actually. Because she was kind and promised she would take care of the fig tree. It died of sickness much later on, and the garden was built on, like everything else on the island, but they would still come. There is a stone block my Ba says is on the exact spot where the tree used to be, where they carved their names and the names of those they loved, not to forget them, but if there was anything carved in it, it was unreadable now. Sometimes, we will leave fruit there, especially after a story. Rarely figs though. I only had one once, when I was very little, but I still prefer oranges. Figs have bugs in them. That's how the tree got sick in the first place. Pesticides carried by wasps.

Seventy years ago, when Ba was a child, there was a superstorm, that lasted for seven days. Part of the cliff fell off, the artificial banks were dragged off by the waves, everyone's plumbing exploded, it didn't matter where the sea started or stopped anymore, there was water everywhere, salt, polluted, acidic, pouring through every crack and holes, spoiling the food, the drinks, inescapable. Three of the bridges collapsed, leaving Malta cut from the mainland, without power or anyone to help. But they came anyway. They pulled people out of collapsed buildings, built shelters, and tirelessly came and went to bring supplies from the mainland all over the archipelago. Ba swore he saw them jump into the sea to save people from drowning, but every time he would tell the story, it was someone different. When asked, he simply replies they did it many, many times. Eventually, the rain did stop, and the wind did calm down, and they stayed three years to help rebuild. That's when they told Ba all of their stories, about the Holy war, and the ones that came before, about endless fields and deep forests, snow covering mountains, and wild animals running free. They became part of the family.   
Eventually, though, they had to leave. They didn't like staying in one place for too long, and with the dry season in the east, wildfires were starting again. Other people needed them. But they came back to visit, when Ba and his sister married, and when Mo died. That's when Raelle met them. It was only the two of them this time, probably because Joe was the one who felt closer to their family. They stayed a few days, helped with the house as best they could, and then, they left again. Raelle still has a bunch of drawings she made of them, especially Joe, who she had a huge crush on for forever, but she was never really good at drawing. He had taught her how to draw trees though, so when Oli was born, she painted a huge tree on the wall behind his crib. She invited them to the christening, of course, but they didn't come. The address they had left them was years old by then, the invitation probably never reached them.

They came five years later though. That's when I met them for the first time.

I was in the cellar when they arrived, I remember clearly because it was summer, which meant it was steaming hot, just under the roof, so Dad had made us a balcony hanging from the skylight with our mattresses on it to sleep on, all caged up so we wouldn't fall. We had pulled sheets over it and had to crawl inside it from the window, and when you looked in between the mattresses, you could see the ground from in between the lattes. It was fantastic. I was hiding in there, reading, when they arrived at the door, right underneath me. They knocked at the door but Mum must've been outside because no one answered, and after a while, they started looking around, and they spotted me. One of them was just like us, black curly hair, a beard, brown skin, and brown eyes that twinkled when he saw me first, spying from my little nest. He had a huge smile and he waved at me before leaning to the other one, who looked at me with the palest eyes I had ever seen. He was white, with blond hair, like a girl on TV, and seemed pretty sunburned too, which should've been funny, but the way he looked at me made all of my confidence disappear. I was eleven, hardly shy, but I suddenly felt incredibly tiny. And of course, I immediately knew who they were.   
  
I almost tripped down the stairs, running to find Mum, screaming like a maniac through the house. 'They're here! They're here!' I kept screaming, as if it was obvious who they were, as if we had been expecting them. Which we weren't, at least not that I knew of, but even so, even though he had been taking naps every day at this exact hour for the past twenty years, my Ba was of course awake this time, and up to greet them by the time I had found her.

“Will you calm down? You'll make me fall!” Mum was scolding me when I ran into her carrying a hamper full of laundry, and we heard my Ba cry :

“Nicky, Joe! What a wonderful surprise! Come on in, come on in! Don't stay in the sun!”

There was a commotion, and before I knew what was happening, it was as if the entire family had poured out of their houses into our living room, curious about our screaming. Mum had abandoned her laundry to rush into the kitchen and pour everyone drinks, helped by my aunts and uncles who weren't working, trying to get my Ba to sit and calm down as he pulled them in one by one to introduce them, half laughing, half rambling. Everyone was so curious about them, but they seemed completely unfazed by it, greeting everyone warmly with bright smiles and respectful touches. They recognized some, beaming at how much everyone had grown, how much the children looked like their parents, kneeling to reach them and gently ruffle their hairs. Joe – the dark-haired one – especially, laughed almost as loudly as Ba, while Nicky sat still as the girls touched his blonde hair. By the time things had settled a little, they were both holding a baby each, sat in the best chairs of the house. I was the oldest kid at the house at the moment, all of the others being at school or apprenticeship, while I still had the afternoon offs. Perks of elementary schools. Still, I would sometimes end up babysitting the smaller kids, so I felt quite self-important, being the responsible one of the house. Which was definitively why I stayed back while everyone was fussing, not at all because they intimidated me. But it didn't take long for them to notice me and gather I was the one who had seen them arrived, and before I could protest, my Mum had dragged me from the corner I was standing in and introduced me. Joe said something about me looking exactly like my Dad, but I was completely taken by Nicky and the way he carefully repeated my name to make sure he got it right.

“Zaiyah...” he said softly, smiling at me. “It's a beautiful name.”   
Suddenly, I understood how Raelle could still be so obsessed with them. It was the first time in my life I felt like an individual, not a child, a sister, or just a kid, but my own important person. Of course, I completely fell in love with him.

They stayed five days. Raelle almost cried when she came home from work and found them waiting for her. Joe grabbed her in his arms and spun her around the room, and they laughed and talked all evening, while he bounced Oli on his knee. They visited all the houses, met all of our friends and neighbor, and partied with us every night. Joe played with us all the time, telling us more stories, correcting some of those we heard, and teaching us tricks, like how to make a coin appear and disappear. They had brought books, toys, candies, spices, and Nicky cooked with us almost every night. He was quieter, I noticed, but not in the shy way Ba had described. Since they slept in our house, I sneaked every night to listen to them talk with the other adults. The fourth night, I was on the stairs when I heard Ba weeping. I immediately ran back to the cellar and hid under the sheets. They left the next day.   
Ba was back to his normal self though, so it mustn't have been that bad, I told myself. They were to come back soon, they promised, although I'm not entirely sure what soon might've meant to them, because they didn't come back for the next three years. This time, they had warned us though, as they came with their sister, Nile. She did all of our hair and let us do hers, Joe took the older ones sailing around the archipelago and Nicky built us a zip line to send each other packages from each other's rooms. He seemed lighter.

They came back again a few times. Sometimes alone, sometimes accompanied by Nile, Book, and one time, Quynh. Book taught us to curse in every language he knew, morse code, how to open any lock, and dozen of other things we were absolutely forbidden to use. He would spend hours in the sun even though he kept boiling like a lobster in a pot, he always had a joke, and he helped us pull pranks on Joe all the time. Nile was the serious one, a bit intimidating too. I never really manage to grasp Quynh. She always had the same peaceful smile but seemed somewhat distant. Joe told us it was because she missed the sky. That if we paid attention and stayed very quiet, one day we might catch her as she flew off into the wind to find her beloved calling to her.

By their third visit, I had finished school. On their fourth, I had married. Joe congratulated us and insisted on getting us a proper wedding gift. When they came back with a beautiful tajine, I noticed Joe had a little grey in his hair and a little more crinkles around the eyes. When Nicky showed me how to prepare eggplants with it, he burned his hand on the hot pottery. Nicky scolded him gently about being impatient as he bandaged it. His fingers were trembling a little when Joe kissed his temple. They didn't come back for another seven years.   
This time, the change was becoming obvious. Joe, still smiling and laughing, was turning grey, and he had a few more scars he showed off to the kids. Nicky, unchanged, smiled patiently. They came a second time that year, for Ba's funeral. They didn't stay.

Thirteen years later, Oli married and they assisted to the wedding. They did not stay in my childhood's home, not with Ba gone, but they rented not far from us. They walked around the isle, fingers tangled together, greeting those who recognized them, and befriending the others. I made them dinner, and they told the same stories they told me to my own children. Marza was not impressed. I suppose it was harder to believe now they could've done so much together.   
  


The last time I saw Joe, he was sitting on the dock, watching the sunset. They had arrived a few days prior, staying in a house a little further off, with fewer stairs, and had taken a car to join us for the evening. The smaller ones had called him Ba all evening, which had delighted him. He had just kissed them good night, his grey mustache tickling them, and now, was sitting peacefully by the sea, his feet in the water. I wanted to tell him to keep them out of there, that it really wasn't nice water, but I'm not sure he cared. Nicky joined him, the sun reflecting in his hair like it did in Joe's white strains, and he kissed his parched hand gently, deferentially, ardently. Mum squeezed my hand and pulled me away with a sad smile. I finally understood why my Ba had been crying that night all those years ago.

We did not hear from them for a long while after that. My own kids grew, Raelle became a grandmother, and Dad passed away. Mum was now Ma, and the new cousins had learned how to use the zip line, morse code, and read all of their books. Raelle tried to tell their stories as Ba did, but she wasn't as good a storyteller as he was. I was planning to give Marza the tajine as a wedding gift myself, but it broke after it fell off the counter. I was devastated. We tried to fix it as best as we could, but it wasn't possible to cook with it anymore. I kept it though, because even broken, it was still a beautiful piece. The next week, Ma received news Joe had passed away.

Nicky came a few months after, alone. Ma pulled him inside their home, made him comfortable, and he stayed there for a few weeks. I only saw him a week after his arrival. He had the same look as the first time I met him. He barely talked but spent as much time with us as he could. The little ones would sit on his knees, showing him their treasures and telling him their stories, and he would listen carefully, dutifully. One day, when I stopped by the house, I found him sitting by the stone in the dooryard. He was carving something into it. The kids were buzzing around him, and he showed them how to use the tools safely. A few days later, when he was done, he thanked Ma for everything and kissed us all goodbye. Quynh came for him, still as beautiful as ever, her long black hair floating in the wind, and I remembered what Joe had told us. She touched the stone, then took Nicky's hand, and they left together.

I still don't like figs, but whenever I see some, I buy one to place by the stone. Raelle does the same. Oli gifted an olive tree in a pot to Ma who placed it there too. The zip line broke during a winter storm and it was decided not to replace it. A promotor offered to buy the house, but Ma refused. It's the center of our little family community, where all of the adults grew together. But we're not sure any of us will be able to take it over once she passes. It worries me. I don't want the stone to be removed, in case Nicky comes back to visit it. Not that he would ever need it to remember Joe, but still. It belongs there. It belongs to them. To him.

'Yusuf ibn Ibrahim al-Tayyib al-Kaysani di Genova'

**Author's Note:**

> Initially, I wanted to illustrate this story, but I'm not there yet, and in the meanwhile, this is the first time I finished writing anything in a very long time, and the first time I finished writing anything in English, so I felt it was worth putting it out there, just to prove myself I can still write and have fun with it! 
> 
> Please, if you see any mistakes, typo, or have any comment on how to improve my writing in general, or questions, or tips on how to use AO3 (like, especially the tags) I'm eager to hear them!


End file.
